


Where Words Fail

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Fanboy Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Victor Nikiforov, Puppy Love, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: The barista gig was just a temporary thing, meant to tide Victor over financially until he could write a follow-up to his debut novel,Stammi Vicino.Temporary has turned into nearly three years, though, and Victor's inspiration is still MIA. Unless he comes up with a plan soon, he'll be stuck behind this counter forever, with too-brief visits from his favorite customer his only consolation (aside from Makkachin, of course.)





	Where Words Fail

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> This story is a bit of a creature. Half of it began life as a scene in Your Attention Please, but then I changed the tone of that fic and cut a chunk out. Later, I got the idea to adapt the cut piece into this funny sort of romcom AU, which I was going to use to promote a bang I wanted to run. Then, the bang got cancelled, so I decided to post this anyway for V-day. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So, here it is!

Neither rain, nor sleet, nor driving snow will keep Victor’s favorite customer from walking through the door each morning, which is great, because it’s _pouring_ outside, and it has been for days now.

Victor leans on the front counter, head propped up on his hands, and watches the bell above the door like a dog awaiting a treat. He wonders how this story would begin. _It was a dark and stormy morning…_

He glances over at the big decorative clock on the wall and watches the hands tick forward, as if he can hear the click of their movement over the jangling indie-pop music omnipresent in the coffee shop.

When the hands hit seven AM, Victor straightens.

Yuuri is late. Yuuri is _never_ late, and Victor’s mind is already searching for the story hidden in this delay--Yuuri was in a car accident. Yuuri found a stray kitten on his way and had to take it to the animal shelter. Yuuri was kidnapped by pirates, and he won’t be freed unless his family pays a ransom of three bags of gold and their first-born son. 

The bells above the cafe door jingle, pulling Victor out of his fantasies, and a hooded figure scrambles inside. Rain droplets go flying as he shakes his umbrella out the door before finally pulling back his hood to reveal mussed, jet black hair which is growing a little long at the nape, curling from the damp air outside. 

Victor sighs, content. All's right with the world after all. He grins, waving enthusiastically as Yuuri turns around, and watches with satisfaction as a flush turns Yuuri’s cheeks pink as rose petals. 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor calls, sing-song. “The usual?”

“Please.”

Victor spins behind the counter and begins the ritual of coffee, milk, and steam. Yuuri likes a latte, two shots, a little sweetened, and sadly always to-go.

When Victor took this job, he was only hoping to make the advance from his first novel stretch long enough to write a second. It’s now been so long that the advance has turned to small, infrequent royalty checks, but he’s still here, excavating a dry well of inspiration in the hopes of finding a single drop at the bottom. He only needs the glimmer of an idea if he wants to write a follow-up to _Stammi Vicino_ , and yet...

The only positive things Victor’s gotten out of working as a barista are Yuuri, free leftover scones, and some mean latte art skills. 

Back still turned to the cash register, he sketches out a fluffy poodle face in the foam on Yuuri’s drink and turns to slide it across the counter with pride. 

Yuuri peers into the cup and smiles, fleeting. “Perfect,” he says, and hands Victor his debit card to pay, taking a single sip of his drink before covering the art with a lid. 

In three years, Victor has never managed to pry more than four words out of Yuuri in a single morning, and he won’t be setting any new records today. His last major success had come when he tried to offer Yuuri a complimentary pastry a few months ago, and Yuuri had said, “No, thank you.”

As soon as the lid is secure on the cup, Yuuri is out the door--rushing, always rushing. He must have a very busy job. He looks young enough to still be in school, but too old to fall for the trap of 8 AM classes. Victor grumbles low in his throat, frustrated, as the door swings closed behind Yuuri.

At the other end of the counter, Yuri, the cafe’s other barista, shakes his head. “You’re pathetic, old man,” he says with familiar disgust.

Victor ignores him. Yuri doesn’t understand yet that Victor is a writer, or what that means. He can’t help himself. He’s a story-teller, and he’s certain there’s a story to Yuuri. All he wants is a chance to discover it.

-

The walk from the coffee shop back to his apartment is blessedly short. It’s eleven, and the crowd of morning commuters in the cafe has faded into a lull that Yuri can handle on his own until Victor’s replacement arrives.

He unlocks the door to his apartment and opens it carefully, finding a flat black nose wedged into the gap. Makkachin’s whole back end wags along with her tail when she smells him, even though he wasn’t gone for long.

Victor goes through the usual motions of getting Makka ready to go out, double checking the leash to make sure he has enough plastic bags tied to the end. He clasps the lead onto her collar, tucks a notebook under his arm in case of sudden inspiration, and then they’re dog park-bound. 

It’s nice out. The storms that have been plaguing the city all week have broken at last, and sunlight is peeking through the gaps in the flat, grey clouds. A cool breeze ruffles the saplings planted along the road as they stroll down the block. The park should be nice and empty with most of the city at work, which is good. Makka is friendly enough with other dogs, but not every puppy at the park is so well-trained, and Victor’s gotten a bit cautious about taking her during the busier times.

Makkachin trots along ahead of him, straining at the leash a little as they round the block and approach the park. She knows every twist and turn in their neighborhood now, the bright old girl. Victor should reel her in, not let her pull, but he can’t blame her for being eager.

There’s a big oak that grows right by the gate to the dog park. It must be a century old, at least--one of the oldest in the park. Victor’s always admired it, and he’s spent many afternoons here wishing he were a painter instead of a writer so he could capture better the gnarled, darkened branches and the sun-dappled leaves in Spring. 

As they pass beneath the boughs, a speck of brown fur streaks onto the path in front of Makka, dashing around the massive tree trunk. Victor doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Makkachin surges against the leash, ripping the lead from his lax fingers. The squirrel takes off, veering across the grass, and Makka is hot on its tail, the handle of her leash trailing through the wet grass in her wake.

“Makkachin!” Victor yells after her. He doesn’t wait to see if she responds, breaking into a run. He’s still in his stiff work shoes, and every stride stabs at the balls of his feet, but it’s not important. Squirrels have better luck than standard poodles if they choose to play Frogger with the city traffic. 

Suddenly, Makka stops in the middle of the park, tail wagging. Victor puts on a burst of speed, rushing to catch her while he can. Distantly, he notices another voice yelling--at him? He looks up, and misses a step.

Yuuri is running toward him. There’s a split second where Victor thinks he’s hallucinating, but no, it’s Yuuri. He’s huffing for breath, cheeks flushed from exertion, and wearing a sleeveless top over a brief pair of jogging shorts that make his thighs look positively _illegal_. Victor slows his stride, distracted.

A loud yip from Makkachin brings him back to reality. She’s darting around the grass, bouncing and playful, and it’s apparent now that she was never after a squirrel--it’s a fluffy toy poodle, like a miniature Makka down to the same ruddy brown shade. Victor reaches the trailing end of Makkachin’s leash at the same time Yuuri arrives, scooping up her little friend.

“Mochi,” Yuuri mutters, brow furrowed as he levels a scolding finger at the pup in his arms. “You know not to run off like that. I’m sorry, sir, he doesn’t usually-” Yuuri cuts off as he looks up from Makka to Victor and recognition dawns in his widening eyes.

“Hiiii, Yuuri,” Victor sings, unable to stop himself from grinning in triumph. After three years, he’s finally learned something about his mystery man. “I didn’t know you had a poodle too. Wow.”

Victor’s pretty sure that if Yuuri wasn’t already flushed, he’d be blushing now. There’s a messenger bag slung across his body, and he adjusts the strap unnecessarily, dropping his gaze to the grass to avoid Victor’s eyes. “Ah, yes. This is Mochi.” He wiggles the dog’s paw in a semblance of a wave.

Makka, catching the motion, sits up on her hind legs and starts to whine at Mochi. 

Victor coos. His dog is the cutest. “Aww, I think they want to play more. Right, Makkachin? You want to play with Mochi?” Makka wags her tail and whines again, softly.

“Umm,” Yuuri shifts his weight from side to side, glancing back over his shoulder. “We were actually just about to head home.”

“Do you live near here?” Victor asks eagerly. He turns to point up the street. “We live two blocks that way, in the Blair building!”

“We’re not that close,” Yuuri says with a shrug, then adjusts his bag again. “I had to drive Mochi over here because the park by my place is flooded from all the rain.”

Damn. Victor’s first instinct is pure disappointment, so it takes a moment for the the strangeness of what Yuuri said to strike. He frowns, confused. “You don’t live nearby, but… You get coffee here at seven in the morning, every day?”

“Not every day,” Yuuri mutters.

“You’ve come in at exactly that time every morning I’ve worked for the past two and a half years,” Victor says, and Yuuri’s head shoots up, his face pale.

Victor tilts his head at Yuuri as the mystery he’d hoped to solve only grows deeper. Why would Yuuri drive all the way into downtown just for coffee?

“I really love the coffee at Agape,” Yuuri says quickly. “Best in town.”

That’s nice to hear, considering that Victor is the one who brews it, but it’s also bullshit. Agape’s beans are about a half step above Folgers. The only reason they’re still open is that the location is convenient to the business district.

Victor has learned something new, though: Yuuri has poor taste in coffee. Maybe he can help. “I appreciate your loyalty,” he says. “But there’s another shop near here that’s _much_ better. To be honest, I usually stop there on my way to Agape in the mornings. If you want, I can show you where it is!”

Victor has a smile he’s practiced in the mirror, his Book Jacket Smile. He’s been told it’s charming, even reassuring. He brings it out now, tilting his chin as the photographers taught him, and presents the smile to Yuuri alongside his offer. 

Much to his chagrin, Yuuri turns red to the tips of his cute little ears. “Very sorry,” he mumbles, flipping open the flap of his bag and moving his things to tuck little Mochi inside the pocket. “But I need to go. Right now. We’re running late.”

Oh. “Another time, then?” Victor asks, but Yuuri’s already waving, turning away. 

He struggles to adjust the squirming pup in his bag, preoccupied as he jogs back down the park path, taking his story with him.

As Yuuri passes through the iron park gate, something tips over the corner of his bag and drops to the ground. Victor calls out to him, but Yuuri is already out of sight around the corner, likely out of earshot. 

Victor jogs over to grab the lost item, hoping it didn’t fall into a mud puddle, and that it won’t be anything important. If he can’t catch Yuuri now, he can give it back at Agape when he works in the morning, assuming he didn’t just scare away he only regular customer he likes.

Selfishly, Victor also hopes the item will be somehow _personal_ , another piece of the developing Yuuri puzzle. Victor knows more now than he did before--Yuuri has very bad taste in coffee and very good taste in dog breeds, but he still has so many questions. Where does Yuuri work? How old is he exactly? What does he do for fun? Victor is thirsty for more.

As he bends to pick up Yuuri’s item, he catches the flash of a familiar image, one he’s seen hundreds--too many times. 

His own photo smiles back at him placidly from the back cover of a faded paperback as Victor turns it over in his hands. He notes the broken spine, dog-eared pages, and flashes of yellow highlighter scattered through the inside text. His first thought is that it’s the most well-loved copy of _Stammi Vicino_ he’s ever seen. 

His second thought is, _when did Yuuri read my book?_

Mystery compounds upon mystery. Book in hand, Victor runs down the path after Yuuri and stops at the other side of the garden wall. He turns to check in each direction, but the sidewalk ahead is empty. Yuuri is nowhere in sight.

Tucking the battered paperback under his arm, Victor returns to the park. Makkachin looks up at him expectantly, her tail wagging slowly. 

“Sorry for the short walk today, girl,” Victor tells her, bending to ruffle the brown curls on the top of her head. “But I think we need to get home now.”

As they settle into the meditation of walking, Victor can see the tale beginning to unfold in his head--there’s a boy with a book, a chance encounter, a matched pair of adorable dogs...

He wonders how this story would begin.

_It was a dark and stormy morning…_

**Author's Note:**

> For a brief, shining moment, I had the thought of making this a multi-chapter. And then I signed up for the Reverse Bang, so that's looking unlikely!!! 
> 
> But I'm not ruling it out entirely. Feel free to click subscribe if you're intrigued and want to subscribe to this newsletter.
> 
> In addition to my tumblr and pillowfort, I finally made a [public twitter](https://twitter.com/louciferish) if that's what you're into.


End file.
